I Need You to Save Me
by INeedCoffeeArghhh
Summary: The most important moments in Gregory and Christophe's lives were the moments they saved each other. However small the situation, those were the moments that mattered.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Two very manipulative boys/men._

_This was going to be a one-shot but it got too big. So I chopped it up into smaller pieces!_

_Warning: It's Gregstophe- there will be a later rating change, violence, _**_smut_**_, alcohol, cigarettes, swearing, blackmail, being on the wrong side of the law, country houses etc... _

* * *

The school councillor's office was a common place for miscreants and wrongdoers to end up, listening inattentively to the same rant over and over. So much so that the councillor could have done just to tape it. It would have saved his vocal chords a whole load of strain; he may even have been able to get by a day without aspirin. However, go to the office too much, and you could be facing something different all together.

"What do you have to say about the writing in the toilets?"

"Eet's pretty hilarious."

"Not for the people involved, young man." Mr Mackey frowned, deep-set lines on his face. His thin hair was almost entirely gone, from a mixture of stress, age and living in the fucked up town of South Park. "Craig Tucker didn't find it funny when he discovered it. He was, as you can imagine, very angry."

Christophe grinned - perfect. He leaned back in his chair, arms stretched above his head, radiating the attitude that he didn't care. "'As ze ozer one said anyzing?" he inquired.

"No, he's yet to find out I believe."

Christophe nodded. That would be a beautiful moment.

"So do you admit that you did it?"

He had no chances left. He sat in the councillor's chair a few seconds away from suspension.

He made a move to speak, but just as he was opening his mouth, a bold blond boy burst through the councillor's door, knocking as an afterthought. He gave off an extreme glow of confidence. His face drew your eye, making you explore every inch of its dazzling surface. You would listen to whatever he had to say, because you wanted to hear that stunning musical voice.

"Mr Mackey, sir!"

The councillor sighed; this job was not worth the money. "Can it wait, Gregory, I'm a little busy, mmkay?"

Gregory's wrist moved fluidly, he held up a hand, fingers stretched at equal lengths. Everything he did at that moment was for a purpose; it was all part of his show. "I'm afraid it cannot wait, sir. You see, it was not Christophe who committed the offense, it was I. Mrs Harbach was undoubtedly mistaken."

"Mmkay, Mrs Harbach said she clearly saw Christophe leaving the toilets that day."

"Is it not possible that she merely saw Christophe leaving them having just _been_ to the toilet?"

"I find it hard to believe you wrote it."

Gregory leaned against the door frame, folding his arms in boredom, as if he'd grown tedious of disputing. "I assure you, Mr Mackey, I did it."

Mr Mackey looked in disbelief. "You wrote: '_Gregory Thorne is a faggot with Craig Tucker and they like to fuck in this cubicle?'_

Gregory chanced a sharp glare at Christophe, who simply grinned back. God damn, Christophe - he never made it easy. Gregory gritted his teeth. "Yes I did, sir."

"...Why?"

Good question that one. And considering Gregory was thinking on his feet, he had to take a few seconds of silence. "Because Craig deserves it after that stunt he pulled, and I just love to be the centre of attention." Oh how humiliating, he really did hate Christophe DeLorne sometimes.

Mr Mackey did not look like he believed Gregory, but what other choice did he have than let Christophe go when Gregory was openly confessing to it? "You realise that this will have to go on your permanent record, and you will receive detention? Think carefully about whether it's worth it."

Gregory gazed into Christophe's quizzical and slightly guilty green eyes. He sighed. "The truth, Mr Mackey, is always worth it."

* * *

"'Ello, Gregory."

Gregory spun around, having just walked out of the councillor's office and slapped Christophe hard across the face. Dark brown leather onto tanned skin. "You bastard." He stalked off towards the school doors - no intention of going back to class - and was of course followed, but then, he knew that would happen.

Christophe rubbed his cheek. "Do you not find it even a leetle funny?"

Gregory kicked open the school doors and pulled his coat collar up to shelter his face from the cold air; it was more for show than anything else. Cold was a state of mind and he'd mastered that years ago. "No." He walked to their usual spot behind the back of the school, and sat down on the concrete. No one ever disturbed them there. It was a dangerous idea to disturb them.

"Mon ami, don't sit on ze cold ground. You'll ruin your lovely ass."

"Fuck off." Wow, he really _was_ annoyed.

"Why don't you sit on my knee instead?" Christophe perched next to Gregory, tapping his legs expectantly.

"I'm not in the mood for your bullshit, unless you've come to grovel and apologise, fuck off."

"I am sorry actually. Thank you for saving me. I wasn't looking forward to 'aving to leave school... and you."

"I don't know why I saved you for that. Writing that I'm a faggot with Tucker? What the hell were you thinking? Do you_ want_ to start a fight? I will happily beat the shit out of you with your own shovel." The graffiti had clearly really gotten to Gregory. "You know what? Instead of that, why don't I go find Craig and ask him to give me a nice hard fuck up my 'lovely' ass?!"

Christophe couldn't contain an amused smile at the anger for Gregory to suggest such a thing, which only made Gregory angrier. "Eef you want to, but I don't think Tucker ees ze best man for ze job."

Gregory threw his arms up, smacking Christophe on the back of the head _hard_. "Couldn't you have used someone else's name to get back at Tucker?"

Christophe smirked. "No, it 'ad to be you."

His face was red with anger. "Why?!"

"So zen I can prove ze rumours wrong by doing zis." Christophe grabbed the back of Gregory's head and slammed their lips together, kissing hard, tangling his fingers through Gregory's perfect blond hair, making the most of those breathtaking seconds before he was pushed away and his friendship came to an end. His heart flipped, as instead of being slapped once more, he heard Gregory musically gasp and then kiss back, clutching at the back of his head.

Well that was unexpected.

"Y-you never do things the easy way, do you?" Gregory panted, moving his lips away for breath, but instantly dipping down to caress Christophe's collar bone, and work up the neck.

Christophe groaned in delight, pulling Gregory onto his lap, because he really did want to keep that lovely ass safe, and throwing his head back. His neck was so sensitive and every brush of Gregory's lips sent shockwaves through him. He groaned again as Gregory bit down on the skin and then sucked at the tender area.

"Zis ees you and me: we don't do easy."

Gregory kissed up Christophe's jaw, stopping to trail his tongue along a recently acquired scar. He moved his lips back up to Christophe's. "No, we certainly do not." He leaned his head back and glared into Christophe's eyes, perhaps keeping up some defences, perhaps just curious. "How is this proving I'm not a faggot?"

"You are a faggot." Christophe pushed his hands up under Gregory's coat, pinching at the skin. "But you're a faggot wiz me, not wiz Tucker."

Gregory gasped, involuntarily jerking himself closer to Christophe in an attempt to escape the pinching, falling straight into the French boy's plan of action. "I'm still annoyed with you," he murmured.

"Zen let me make eet up to you," the French boy purred, moving his hands down to grope below the Brit's back. "I could warm zis ass up for a start."

"I-It's very cold, may take a lot of warming?"

"I'm ze guy for ze job," Christophe raised his eyebrow, "all kinds of jobs."

Gregory smirked. "Are you sure you can handle me?"

Christophe brushed against Gregory's lips. "Can anybody 'andle you?"

Gregory bit into the bottom one impatiently, eliciting a groan from his companion. "Let's just wait and see."

* * *

_A/N: Yep, the point being that they will be adults in the next chapter, which is much longer (and rated M)._


	2. Chapter 2

It was night-time and they were in the process of late night questioning. They wanted to wrap the case up quickly, having just caught the man they'd been after for months - the one they could pin all the unsolved crimes on in their fucked up city. It was a major achievement even if it was a total lie. They were the police after all... Why should they follow the law?

These were the thoughts that ran through The Mole's head as he sat stony faced in a small metal chair.

"The mole. You got that name because you're good at digging didn't you?"

No reply.

"Digging the dirt... so you decided to dig the dirt on the Mayor, and you didn't like what you found. So here's what I think happened: You blackmailed him, stole money from his vaults, and handily killed his lawyer - one who would have banged you up for sure."

No reply.

"We've finally found some evidence which points to you. It's only a matter of time before I throw you where you belong." The officer was large, coffee stains on his shirt sleeves and greasy thinning hair. Oh such a typical brute. "Now, you're young - twenty-three - if you confess now, I'll go easier on you." He leaned back and smirked. "Either way, I have you. So, are you going to admit you did it?"

Christophe's eyes glared at him murderously, although he was strangely calm. "No."

"No you didn't do it, or no you're not going to confess?"

Christophe smirked. "Yes."

The officer slammed his hand on the desk in anger. He really wanted throw the mole in a cell and go home. "Which one?"

"Eef I did do eet, zen why would I confess when zere's clearly no evidence?"

"Are you suggesting that I'm lying to you?"

"I know zat you're lying. You can't possibly 'av any evidence on me. Eef you deed 'av ze evidence zen you wouldn't be bothered what I said. You just want to go 'ome to your leetle wife and a hot meal. What ees it tonight... pie?"

The officer tried to remain calm. "So you're saying that you didn't do anything then? You're telling us you're innocent."

"I believe what I said was: 'You can't possibly 'av any evidence on me,' and since zat's true, I refuse to say any more." Christophe stretched his hands behind his head. "You 'av no choice but to release me."

The officer grimaced; he'd worked too long and hard catching this guy to let him go. "I'm not done questioning you."

Christophe shrugged. He had nowhere he needed to be, no family, not one single person who would wait and worry for him. He could stick this out as long as the officer insisted. It looked like it was going to be a long silent night.

Or at least, it would have been, if not for the sudden new addition.

A blond with such a glowing presence strode into the room, grinning devilishly and completely renewing Christophe's interest. The face made him inwardly gasp, for he did not want to give anything away by gasping out loud. He couldn't believe what he was seeing... who he was seeing.

"What do we have here?" He looked Christophe up and down, raising an eyebrow. His face gave away nothing of the emotions he was feeling, perfectly in character.

"Who the hell are you?" barked the police officer.

Gregory held out his hand. "I'm with investigation and inspection. You should have received a call earlier about my arrival. We work at odd times." He relayed the information confidently, like it wasn't completely out of the ordinary and a complete lie.

"I aint got no call. Sides, we didn't ask for you. Everything here's above-board."

Gregory smiled pleasantly. "Splendid, then you won't mind if I take a look around."

The officer narrowed his eyes. "Show me your badge."

Gregory raised his eyebrow and sighed in exasperation, fishing in his pocket and taking out a leather case. He held it up. "Here, happy?" The police officer said nothing. Gregory took this as a sign to continue. "Who is this?" he asked, pointing to Christophe.

The police officer stiffened, giving off an air of resentment stemming from someone so young and arrogant being able to boss him around. He was clearly visiting under odd circumstances, which he was getting increasingly suspicious about. "We found The Mole."

"Oh, how interesting." Gregory paused for a moment to take in Christophe's dishevelled - yet to him - sexy appearance. He waved his hand dismissively. "Release him."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" growled the officer. He gritted his teeth. "That's not your call to make."

"I have orders from the top that disagree with you." Gregory's manner was calm and matter-of-fact. "Release him. He didn't do it, the evidence points to someone else."

The officer banged his hand down on the table, knocking over his chipped coffee cup, brown liquid pouring into a nearly overfilled ash tray. "How can the evidence point to someone else? There was no evidence!"

Christophe smirked. The officer had no clue how much he'd just been played.

"You faked evidence?" Gregory narrowed his eyes. "That doesn't reflect well upon your department. Unless you're looking for trouble or want me to write a very negative report, I recommend you shut up and release him." The police officer said nothing, his clenched knuckles were whitening and Gregory had the faint feeling that if he pushed it too far, a fight would inevitably break out. He sighed. "Fine, since you're so incompetent, I'll do it."

He beckoned for Christophe to follow him, and with a final smirk and a nod at the angry officer, Christophe did just that.

In the hall, with what he perceived to be no other officers around, Gregory grabbed the Frenchman's hand, gripping it hard, almost to see if he truly was real, truly there after all the years apart. "I don't believe it," he whispered, running his other hand over Christophe's warm, flushed cheek. He moved his hand down Christophe's green t-shirt. "I... don't believe it."

"'Ello, Gregory." A small wonky grin came to his face. "Thank you for saving me."

Gregory grinned. "It's what I do best, Tophe." He looked over Christophe's shoulder and met eyes with at least three police officers. They saw a supposed higher investigator holding hands and stroking the face of the criminal they'd dedicated all their time to chasing - one which he had then immediately released with very little authority to do so. "Are you ready?" asked Gregory, yanking open the station door. "Because we need to run!"

With a look over his shoulder, Christophe took no time to argue. They bolted out the station with yells from behind them to stop, feet hitting the concrete pavement. The running was fast and should have been heavy, yet both men were incredibly light on their feet, undeniable experts in escaping. They ran for a while in silence, dodging cars, jumping walls, everything that came naturally. They left no trace of their path, knocking not a single trash can or person over. Eventually Christophe slowed down, scowling and pulling a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it up.

"What ze fuck are you doing on ze force?" he yelled.

"It's a cover, you fool. And I've well and truly gone and blown it by saving you."

"Ah, eet's a disguise, zat's more like eet." Christophe eyed Gregory with a smile as they both stopped running and fell into a dark alley. "You look 'ot wiz a gun on your 'ips." He could see it just peeping out. He didn't understand how Gregory could get more beautiful with age, but that is what had inevitably happened. No longer a boy, he was a breathtaking man.

"Of course, darling." Gregory took off his jacket, but kept the belt, tucking the gun out of sight. All he was wearing was a white shirt and black trousers, but he still carried the look off like he was about to go somewhere very important.

"Why take of ze jacket? Wouldn't ze police badge come in useful?" asked Christophe, picking up the jacket to observe it, and scowling when he noticed Gregory was now taller than him, rather than the other way round.

"I think it would be better if people don't link me to the law where we're going; at best they may think me a stripper."

"You can streep eef you want." Hell, he wouldn't miss the opportunity to see Gregory's body again. Christophe growled in retaliation as Gregory punched him the arm, and then grinned realising the blond's words. "So where are _we_ going?"

"I want to check out this new club that's opened, it has private booths... _very_ private booths." Gregory had a mischievous glint in his eye. "And I think after me saving your ass just now, you owe me a drink before we part ways again."

Parting ways, now that was a thought that Christophe did not want to entertain at such an early stage, not when they were just getting reacquainted. "Or two?"

Gregory smiled. "At least two."

XXX

They stood in line at the club; it was highly new and very prestigious, which made Christophe very sceptical. "'Ow are we going to get in 'ere wizout being on ze guest list?"

Gregory hushed Christophe as they got closer to the front. "I'm hoping that you can use what I'm about to set up," he whispered with confidence through the corner of his mouth. "Act like you don't know me."

The doorman let the people in front of Gregory in and catching his eye, beckoned him forward, eager for a closer look. "Well hello there, pretty boy." Even the toughest and manliest of men still looked at Gregory like schoolgirls with crushes. They were hypnotised by his glowing skin and bright blue eyes on that perfect pale face. Plus the indescribable light blond hair. The guy on the door was tall and broad, with tattoos stretching up his arm and a shaved head. He looked very straight, yet still had that flirting edge to his voice talking to Gregory. "Is your name on the list?"

"Yes, it's Oliver Williams," offered Gregory with a smile.

The doorman scanned his eyes regrettably over the list. "I'm sorry I can't find your name."

Gregory's face transformed into shock. "What, are you sure?" After a few seconds of shock playing over his face, it turned to knowing anger. "That fucking bastard," he muttered in a soft, slightly hurt tone.

"Who?"

"Well this is obviously the work of my ex. That bastard is never satisfied. He must have cancelled my name after I caught him with that slut. He is just too much, leaving him was the best thing I ever did." Gregory clenched his fists. "Looks like he's won." He sighed theatrically.

The doorman hung on his every word, getting drawn into the musical tones. "What a douche to cheat on you. Why would anyone want to lose you?"

Bingo, perfect reaction, as always it had worked. Gregory just sighed again, smiling faintly. "I don't expect you to care." He ran a hand through his hair, to make the doorman wish he was the one doing the action - incidentally, Christophe was wishing the same thing, though his wish was much closer to getting realised. "I guess I'll go home," continued the blond.

The doorman leaned forward. "You know, Oliver, I could easily let you in."

Gregory's eyes gazed into the doorman's, the way they sparkled almost bewitching. "You could?"

"I feel for you - a young, pretty thing, all alone. I tell you what... I know something we can do to make you forget all about your ex."

Gregory's eyelids fluttered and he smiled playfully. "Oh?"

"I'll let you in, and then when my shift ends, keep you company."

He briefly brushed his hand over the doorman's arm. "That's so kind of you."

The doorman fumbled in his pocket, shaking hands. "Here, the key to booth four. It has a door because it's nice and... private, if you get my drift." He was whispering in Gregory's ear, completely melted by the charm.

Gregory bit his lips alluringly. "I get your message loud and clear, Tony."

The doorman looked like he was about to faint from flustered excitement. "Oh right, my name's George."

Gregory's eyes twinkled. "I'm going to call you Tony." He took the key from the doorman's hand, and flashed one last smile. "I'll see you later. Take your time... I like the wait."

"O-okay." The doorman gulped, and his eyes leered over Gregory as the Brit walked into the club. He couldn't wait to get his hands all over the young and irresistible blond's mouth-watering body.

Christophe laughed under his breath, completely amused by the situation. Trust Gregory to actually pull that lie off. The doorman snapped out of his trance and signalled him forward. It was Christophe's time to shine. "Is your name on the list?" George was back to his 'no nonsense' stance; clearly Christophe didn't have the same striking beauty with that irresistible feminine edge. He would have to use a different tactic. Lucky he had one then.

"Non," Christophe locked eyes menacingly, "but eef you don't let me in right now, I'm calling Laura and informing 'er about your leetle affair." The words were said with complete confidence and conviction. Christophe reached in his pocket for his phone and opened up his contacts.

Such a look of fear came to the doorman's eyes. "H-how do you-"

"Eet's not a question of 'ow I know, George. Eet's a question of what decision you're going to make." The doorman didn't say another word. He nodded Christophe inside. "Zat's ze correct decision," whispered Christophe warningly as he passed.

XXX

Gregory raised an eyebrow in surprise as Christophe arrived outside the booth at the same time as him. The blond was carrying two glasses. "I thought I might as well get the drinks, I hope you appreciate gin and tonic." He did not drink beer; it was the drink of idiots - men that liked to play snooker and grow big, horrific stomachs.

"Oui," Christophe fished the key from Gregory's top pocket, shoved it in the lock and swung the door open. "After you."

"Oh look at you being polite." Gregory sat down on the padded booth seat, placing the drinks on the table. It was quite cosy actually, space for a few people with plenty of leg room.

Christophe closed the door behind them. "Aren't I always?"

Gregory rolled his eyes. "Yes, Tophe, you were always the model gentleman." He smiled warmly. "It's good to see you again."

"And you."

Gregory took a sip of his drink. "So how did you get in? You can't have flirted your way in. I think you're a bit too macho for George. Besides, he already thinks he's having me later. So unless he's expecting a threesome..."

Christophe laughed. "Oh it was simple really. All zose tattoos on 'is arm and only one name - Laura. He was wearing a wedding ring, so I figure zere's a good chance Laura ees 'is wife. He flirted so confidently wiz you, wizout hesitation, zat I figure he probably does eet quite often. So I simply tell 'im zat I'll call Laura and tell 'er about ze affair eef he doesn't let me een."

Gregory laughed. "And he falls for it?"

Christophe raised his glass. "'Ook, line and sinker. Knowing he was called George was a nice touch." He took a sip, savouring the flavour and the warm feeling that spread through his body. "So, why were you doing zat job, was eet to do wiz ze corrupt Mayor?"

"Tophe, it wasn't just the Mayor that was corrupt, it ran pretty far into the police force. This whole city is corrupt."

"So ze cops killed ze lawyer?"

"He found out."

Christophe growled; it made him so angry when innocent people died. Sure, guilty people could die, he killed them all the time, but not innocent.

"I also heard they were tracking you, wanting someone to pin it on, and thought if there was even a chance that I may catch a glimpse of you again, it would be worth it." Gregory blushed, a proper full on red blush, and fuck did it turn Christophe on.

He grabbed Gregory around the waist and slid him closer, gazing into his intoxicating eyes. "I too am 'appy to catch a glimpse of you." He smacked his lips into the blond's, and heard a groan of shock and pleasure in return. He desperately tangled his hands in Gregory's hair as he introduced his tongue. It battled with the other's, which seemed just as keen, and just as desperate. It was all so wonderfully familiar, transporting him to a time when this was all new and he was only just discovering the hold the blond would have on him.

He practically ripped Gregory's shirt off, tracing his fingers all over the flawless chest. It held no blemishes, except for a scar above his hip bone - one Christophe had actually caused himself, by accident, on a passionate night when they were just seventeen. He dipped his head down to kiss the scar, whispering apologies into the soft skin.

Gregory sighed in contentment, welcoming the tender contact. "That was almost five years ago now, Tophe, you've apologised enough."

Christophe moved his mouth up Gregory's torso, stopping to trail his tongue around the nipples, paying them the attention they were worth, listening to the arousing moans this produced. Hell, he'd missed those sounds. Parting with Gregory was definitely the worse experience of his life. They thought they wanted different things; they actually wanted the same. "Five years, such a long time to be wizout you."

Gregory groaned in agreement. "I-I know, I-I've never found anyone that came close to comparing with you. I gave up bothering to look."

Christophe raised his head. "You mean to tell me zat you 'aven't been wiz anyone else?"

"...There was one fling, purely sexual, just after you and I split ways, before I went off to college."

Christophe narrowed his eyes, "do I know 'im?"

"Yes."

"Was eet Marsh?"

Gregory trailed his hands down Christophe's back along the spine, causing a shiver. "Yes."

"Zat beetch. I knew he 'ad ze hots for you." The Frenchman shoved his hand down the back of the Brit's trousers, groping the 'lovely' ass. "I bet he didn't make you feel like zis." He shoved his tongue back into the Brit's mouth, grinning as he heard Gregory once again gasp. The blond's heart was going wild, and he had to agree that being with Christophe couldn't compare to anyone else.

Christophe pulled his lips away and smirked. "Would you like your reward for getting me out of zat 'orrible interrogation room?" With minimal effort he pushed Gregory up onto the table facing him, so the blond's crotch was at a handy height. Christophe rubbed the front of Gregory's thighs, moving his hands at a tantalizing slow pace, feeling something twitch through the friction Gregory's course material trousers created.

Gregory gasped. "A- A reward, for me? H-how thoughtful." He moved his legs, allowing his clothes to be easily disposed of, and Christophe access to his eager cock.

"I've missed zis," Christophe teased taking it in his hand.

Why did Gregory find that so cute? Not a characteristic he thought he'd be associating with Christophe, but time had led him to see things in different ways. He smirked playfully. "Good."

Christophe growled, holding Gregory's member firmer, stroking a finger down to the base, and back up, repeating the motion as it grew harder, and the look in the blond's face grew more desperate. He trailed his finger along the tip, circling it excruciatingly slowly. Gregory groaned, tangling his fingers in Christophe's hair and staring hungrily into his eyes. Hungry was good, but Christophe wanted his blond ravenous. He dipped his head down, licking over the slit, tasting the salty pre-cum that made his tongue sizzle and elicited a moan from the back of his throat.

Gregory also moaned, his body driven crazy by the agonizing teasing. "T-Tophe, mnnn."

"What's zat?" asked Christophe, gaining pleasure from the stifled musical tones of Gregory's voice. He remembered when he used to make that voice break when they were younger, Gregory letting all his guards down. He trailed his tongue down the side of Gregory's throbbing cock, rubbing the inside of blond's thighs with his cracked hands, moving them up to the balls and base, giving the cock a few rewarding pumps and then letting go again.

"You're teasing." Sweat ran down Gregory's face. Years of nothing and suddenly he was being dizzyingly tortured to desperation. "God, T-Tophe, s-stop _it!"_

Christophe smirked wanting Gregory to beg for release, for dirty words to pour out of his mouth. He locked with Gregory's eyes again. "What do you want?"

Gregory moaned at the friction Christophe was creating. "I-I want you to stop being such a dick." At this comment, Christophe continued to only run his tongue along the top of Gregory's cock. Gregory's face went red. "I-I want you to take me deep in your th-throat, and God damn I want to fucking come in your mouth, now!"

Christophe dropped his mouth, taking in Gregory's full length, it hit the back of his throat and he groaned, vibrations travelling up Gregory's member. He moved his head fast up and down, revelling in the feel, clinging onto Gregory's hips for stability. Gregory threw his head back and practically screamed - the euphoric feeling almost too much to bear. He could already sense his body shaking, everything heightened by the previous denial. He could feel his stomach tighten as Christophe took him deep into the back of the throat.

He managed to fight it for less than a couple of minutes.

He wasn't lasting long, his vision patched with white and his body pumped with ecstasy. He pulled at Christophe's hair with indescribable need and shot his load with a last, urgent cry of 'Tophe'. Christophe sucked Gregory's cock dry, enjoying the flavour that reminded him of so many delectable memories, and the sound of Gregory's pants.

Gregory slid himself onto Christophe's knee, noticing the urgent hardness in the Frenchman's pants. He crashed their lips together. "I love you so fucking much," he murmured, barely aware he'd said it. He smirked, stroking Christophe's hefty bulge with a playful glint in his eye. "Let me get that for you."

Christophe gulped.

XXX

They spent the next hour talking about what they'd been doing since they parted after graduation. Another two glasses of gin and tonic were bought, along with some vodka and cranberry. Christophe was drinking the last of the pink liquid when he heard an intrusion at the door. He cast his eyes up as it opened to reveal George the doorman, come for a slice of the slightly intoxicated Gregory. He raised his eyebrow. "Well, 'ello zere, Tony."

George looked shocked and angry. "Wait, what are you doing in here?"

"Drinking, talking," Christophe ran his hand through Gregory's hair, "and playing with ze Blondie."

The doorman was livid with anger, not ready to be denied what he'd been promised. "Well you can leave now, the Blondie and I want some alone time."

"Do we?" asked Gregory, faking innocence.

George narrowed his eyes. "You owe me for getting this booth. You knew our deal. Now if Frenchy here leaves, and you bend over, everything will be just fine."

"What reason would I have for bending over?"

"Are you trying to fuck my partner in crime?" accused Christophe.

Gregory smiled. "I think he is, Mole."

Christophe picked up the gun from Gregory's belt, which had been placed on the seat next to him. He held it up to George with a bored expression on his face. "Think carefully about your actions, Tony."

Gregory rolled his eyes, downing the rest of his drink hastily. "It didn't call for a gun, now we're not going to be welcome back."

"Good, I 'ate zis city." Christophe stood up, Gregory followed him. He continued holding the gun to face George as he walked towards the door. "Get in ze booth," he grumbled. George did as he was told; holding his arms in the air, face pale and so much fear in it. Christophe followed Gregory, backing out of the booth. "Zat's eet, I won't tell Laura. You can rest in peace." He loved the gasp of panic he got out of George by using the phrase 'rest in peace.'

Gregory grabbed Christophe's hand. "I think you've messed with Tony enough."

They began to run again, through the club, people staring startled at them. Christophe felt exhilarated - this was so much more fun with the posh blond, with _his _posh blond. "Dammit, I love being 'ere by your side. Zis ees where I promise I'll be from now on."

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for you reviews! I guess since this is all written, I'll judge when to upload next from the reviews. :)_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: This 'story' is very irregular... and it's not really a story. So here's the last part. Yeah. I told you at the beginning it was a chopped up one-shot!_

_Although Gregory doesn't have any noble blood, I'd say his estate in this is big enough for a Butler. And I really wanted to give him a modern day Butler!_

_And thank you, and please enjoy._

* * *

An eighteen year old Gregory sits on the steps outside his house. He watches as his love leaves him. They're heading on separate paths. They would never work. It still hurts too much to feel like the correct decision though, but it's too late. He vows in those seconds that once separating is enough, that if fate were to put them together again, parting would kill him.

He knows that he's not going to trust fate to do the job. He'll find the boy again when he's ready.

He doesn't know he'll lose him again.

"Goodbye, Tophe," he whispers.

* * *

Gregory was at the bar, turned sideways on his stool, leaning forwards towards his mark. He knew the best way to hold his body. He knew how to charm someone.

"Hello," he whispered seductively. "Looking for some company?" He was whispering into a man's ear, approximately in his thirties. He had brown hair, a very strong build and dark eyes. He looked like a body guard. He looked completely straight. However as always he melted at Gregory's words. They always did.

Elsewhere Christophe was at the poker table not having the same luck. The man he was opposite had somehow figured them out. He must have gained information before the night because Christophe and Gregory were playing their roles perfectly, and had been for the past year.

"I know what you're up to."

Christophe drummed his fingers on the table, throwing down his hand - which would have won him a lot of money if he'd been able to collect his winnings. "Oh?"

"Blondie distracts and tries to get information out of our man over there while you do the same over here." The man took a sip from his drink. "And you thought that was going to work?"

"Eet's never failed before," muttered Christophe leaning back in his chair. "Merde."

"He's just helping you though. This one was all yours and you messed it up?" The man smirked. "Shame you had to get him involved."

He wasn't the only person at the table - there were plenty of his associates, completely outnumbering Christophe and Gregory. Perhaps he had taken on more than he could handle. He grunted.

"To make this interesting I'm going to give you a day's head start."

"And zen what?"

"I'm going to kill you." The man smirked and flicked his eyes over to Gregory, leeringly. "And anyone who happens to be with you." He watched the way Gregory was leaning over flirting. He ran his eyes over Gregory's backside. "Well, after I've had my fun."

Christophe shot up and slammed his fist down on the table. Thankfully, Gregory was not watching him. "You weel stay away from 'im or you weel regret eet."

"But he looks so fun to play with. The things I will do to him... I will rip him apart. I will destroy him. And it will be all your fault."

Christophe threw his fist into the man's face before anyone could stop him. In that moment he began his life on the run.

* * *

Gregory sat on the bottom floor in his home library, leather-bound Dickens in one hand, glass of scotch in the other. He looked out of the grand window, over his vast acres in the Cheshire countryside - immaculately mowed lawns and multi-coloured trees, every shade of browns, oranges and reds. Autumn, moving towards cold, bitter winter, and then drowning the snow in the spring where it refused to stop raining. Summer would come promising to be sunny, but disappointing at the last minute, and then it would move straight back into everything dying in autumn. Time had made Gregory cynical - ten years to hate himself but blame someone else for it.

He'd moved back to England almost ten years ago, not long after Christophe left. The French bastard disappeared one day without a trace, and Gregory swore that he was done; he was not wasting his life waiting (though in hindsight that's exactly what he'd done). Alone and heartbroken, he had to leave America, get away from the land that only brought him misery.

For ten years he hadn't seen Christophe. So what he did to try and forget about him was make his fortune and get a wife. Neither of these things helped in the slightest. Now he was just a very rich man, in a loveless marriage, with two ungrateful step-children he hardly saw or had any interest in. His wife never asked or cared how he got his money, just that he had it. It could have been illegally obtained for all she cared.

It _was_ in fact illegally obtained, through so many dodgy deals, grifting, and blackmail. The police were getting wise; Gregory was hearing underground rumours that he was finally going to get what 'he deserved.' Things always had a way of catching up in the end. He hoped that if he went down, his bitch of a wife would too.

Maybe it was time for a new start, a different country, a chance to make his life again. He just worried that he wasn't as young and good-looking as he once was, he couldn't bend people to his will in quite the same way, and he didn't have the time to meet a new partner. Besides - he couldn't leave his wife and step-children just like that, could he?

The possible answer to all his problems rang the front door. The bell chimed three times and the snobbish butler - whom Gregory also hated but needed - answered.

He really hoped it wasn't anyone important at the door; he just wanted to be left alone. Perhaps it was a spoilt friend of his step-daughter wanting to ride horses, or one of the ridiculous ladies from the social club who wore the ugliest dresses and bored him to death with their talk about flowers and the scandal in the church (the vicar's a crook? Oh what a surprise. Please tell me more). Well, it was only him home so they would all just have to go away.

The butler entered the library with a name that certainly was not either of those, a name which Gregory never thought he would hear again but whispered silently every night.

"A Mr Christophe DeLorne is here to see you, sir, and Mrs Thorne is on the phone. She says it's urgent."

Gregory's heart missed a beat, and he immediately stood up, dropping _Great Expectations_ on the chair. He clenched his free fist by his side. Turning around to face out of the window, he took a deep breath. "Tell Emily I'll call her back very soon," he growled. "...And send him in."

"Very good, sir."

Gregory's knuckle grew white as he waited for his guest's arrival. His eyes were fixed on a point on the lawn - a rouge leaf that had not been raked up by the Gardner. That leaf had a way of slipping through every crack, always coming back in the end, whatever he did. And it was impossibly still green.

He heard a cough behind him as the butler re-entered. "Your guest, sir."

Gregory didn't turn around. His voice was cold and harsh. "Thank you, Mason. That will be all. You can leave us now... and do not on any account disturb us."

The Butler dipped his head as he left the room.

"'Ello, Gregory."

Gregory spun around, eyes livid with fury. He saw the face that had haunted him for the last ten years, the same crinkle around his green eyes, the same surprisingly small mouth, soft lips. It was almost taunting him with how real it was.

He finally snapped, and with a flick of his wrist and full force of his arm, threw his scotch glass across the 's mercenary reflexes kicked in, he ducked, and the glass shattered against the library door.

The butler heard the smash of glass and rushed into the room again, staring in shock at his fuming master. Gregory glared furiously at him. "I said leave us, and _do not_ come back in! Do I not make myself clear?!" He was shouting. He was red in the face. He was angry.

"Crystal, sir," replied the butler calmly, closing the doors again, much too accustomed to Gregory's hot temper. He'd have to clear that up later, _again, _God he could use a break.

"Well zat wasn't very nice." Christophe flicked a small shard of glass off his shoulder. "Why so angry?"

Gregory screamed and lunged towards Christophe, knocking him to the floor with a hard and brutal punch. "Y_ou_ made me angry. _You_ who abandoned me." His words were screamed with only the anger you get from heartbreak, pain that he'd masked for so many years pouring into his voice. "And you have the fucking nerve to turn up after ten years?" He grabbed Christophe's shoulders, shaking him hard, sending his head banging against the floor. "Saying 'hello'?!"

Christophe growled and fought back, pushing the blond off him. "I 'av a good reason for what I did." He only wanted to defend, not to attack, but Gregory's head hit his mahogany coffee table with a loud thump.

Gregory glared and threw the coffee table away, sending it tumbling to the floor, over Christophe, who threw his arms up to catch it. "Oh, I can't fucking _wait_ to hear that," scorned Gregory, stumbling up and over to one of his many bookcases in an unthinking haze. He pulled them at random off the shelves, aiming them hard at Christophe's head. He wanted anything that would cause pain; all he wanted in that moment was to see the other man hurt.

The near priceless books flew through the air at great speed, pages fluttering before they dropped down on the hard floor - pages bending, spines breaking, utterly ruined.

The Frenchman ducked and swerved, avoiding every classic title that was thrown his way. The books hit the bookcase behind Christophe hard, causing more to thud off the shelves. With a dizzying smack _The Count of Monte Cristo _flew straight into his head, corner drawing blood.

"You beetch," he growled. Caught up in the moment of anger, he ran over to the bookcase opposite Gregory and started throwing books as well, perfectly aiming at the man he loved.

Gregory let out a gasp as _Jane Eyre_, made brutal contact with his chest; it was a particularly heavy book. "That's more like it," he panted, fury taking over all his other senses. "But I know you can fight dirtier, motherfucker." He threw one final book, before hurtling across the room to grab Christophe's neck - the unleashed animal in him wanting to rip everything apart.

"I don't want to fight dirty!" Christophe was prepared for Gregory's assault this time, sticking his foot out and sending the blond falling to the floor.

Gregory bit his lip and felt the copper taste of blood fill his mouth. He swung his leg up and through the air, hitting the back of Christophe's knees. The Frenchman buckled and fell on top of him. "You love fighting dirty," gasped Gregory, feeling extremely winded. He coughed, flinching at the pain in his chest and the blood dripping down his chin.

Christophe gripped the blond's wrist tightly, pinning them down to the floor and pressing his body down to trap him. "Not like zis. Now stop eet."

Gregory thrashed his body from side to side in a helpless attempt to free himself.

"Stop eet, NOW!"

He gave up trying to fight Christophe off, his body going limp. "You can't just come back into my life and expect everything to be fine! You abandoned me, what other reaction am I meant to have!"

"I couldn't stay away, knowing you were here."

Ten years was a long time, and eight of those were spent trying to hunt down Gregory, once the death threats were no longer there, or rather the people making the death threats were dead. Someone had never been so hard to find as Gregory, every trace of him having ever been in America had vanished; Christophe didn't know where to start looking. He travelled to England, hopelessly searching the different counties. He never gave up though. Then one day, sitting in a small tea shop in a town in Cheshire, he heard the mention of Gregory's name, how he'd come to gain a large country house there. It was very simple to find the right one after that.

"You should never have left in the first place, and then there would be no problem!"

"I 'ad to, zey were going to keel you." Christophe choked back a tear. "Zey wanted to 'urt you. Zey were going to do terrible things and I 'ad to protect you."

"Who did? What a load of-" Gregory gasped, stopping himself, realising. "Those people you got involved with in Vegas!?" He remembered it all too well. For the first time, Christophe had got in deeper than he could handle, deeper than he could dig.

"Oui, zat's why as soon as I got you to somewhere remote, our leetle childhood Mountain town, I ran. I thought zat eef I was on my own, zey could no longer trace you and zey may no longer think zat you were important to me. I thought zat eef we parted, zey'd try and find something else to 'urt me wiz." Christophe stroked Gregory's face delicately. "And once I'd killed zem all, I tried to find you. Zat's what I've spent my life doing."

Gregory slowly moved his hand to meet with Christophe's, holding it tenderly. He could tell every word was true, and it made him both sad and happy to hear those words. Involuntary tears started falling from his eyes. It was an overwhelming moment, everything he believed, turned upside down, twisting and spinning in his head. The one time Christophe saved him and he didn't even know it.

"I thought you'd had enough of me, Tophe. And it killed so much because even though I hated you, and I've spent the past ten years in anger, I never stopped loving you."

Christophe wiped the tears away from Gregory's eyes, a few running down his own face. "Never, you're ze only thing I think about. Leaving you, eet was worse zan dying." His voice cracked. "Je t'aime tellement, putain bien."

"We could have stayed together?"

"Non. You were my weakness. We would 'av both died."

Gregory coughed again, his breath weak and chest tight. His racing heart did not help reduce the excruciating pain that was entering his chest, and his head was going dizzy with confusion.

Christophe's eyes widened with regret. He gently undid the buttons of the blond's shirt, noticing again the scar above his hip bone, and a large red mark forming on his chest. "Désolé," he whispered, kissing the mark tenderly. "I am so sorry to 'av done zat."

Gregory shook his head. "I-It's my fault for thr-throwing so many..." he coughed weakly again. "...books at you, _I'm_ sorry. I-I I-" His eyelids fluttered closed as the spinning in his head became unbearable and he passed out with Christophe still sitting on top of him.

Christophe stroked Gregory's face again - always so perfectly beautiful. He was his wonderful Prince, who would once again feel loved and proud to be himself, because in Christophe's eyes, Gregory deserved to be arrogant. He climbed off the blond, doing up his shirt. After reaching in his own top pocket for a cigarette and lighting it up, keeping it in his mouth, he scooped Gregory up in his arms. "Mazon!" he called and waited as the Butler arrived. He did, looking at the Frenchman cautiously. "Kindly escort me to Monsieur Gregory's room. He's 'aving a nap."

The Butler looked like he was about to argue, but decided against it, not really caring that his master was hurt, or how, or why, or who was carrying him. "Right this way, sir."

"Don't call me sir, faggot. I 'ate eet."

"Oh well, you're just as charming as Mr Thorne, aren't you?" mumbled Mason under his breath.

Christophe took a long drag on his cigarette as he lay down next to the sleeping Gregory on his _at least_ King sized bed. The aromas of detergent mixed with wintergreen bath oils floated around him. Since he saw no trace of a female sharing the room, they must have been Gregory's. This thought made him smile and he wrapped an arm around his companion. He kept stroking the blond's forehead lightly, never wanting to let go of his precious gem again. He wouldn't, he couldn't, and he shouldn't have to.

XXX

Christophe heard a faint cough beside him. It had been an hour, one he'd spent with his eyes glued to Gregory, observing all the ways the blond had stayed the same and all the ways he'd changed. Slight wrinkles were forming on his forehead - frown lines, and he'd lost all traces of youth from his face. But apart from that he was exactly the same, still breathtaking, still surrounded by an untouchable glow; Christophe would always see him like that.

"You're awake," whispered Christophe, gracing his fingers over Gregory's cheek.

Gregory's light blue eyes opened in disbelief and a wide smile spread across his face as he stared up - an action he had not done in a number of years. "Y-you're really here. It wasn't a dream, you're... here."

Christophe took Gregory's hand, holding it to his lips and kissing the knuckles. "I'm really 'ere."

"Good God, Tophe." Gregory reached out a hand and stroked Christophe's face.

"Ha, we certainly showed zat faggot zat he couldn't keep us apart." The Frenchman bent his head down to tenderly kiss the Brit's lips. His heart jumped and a warm, comforting feeling spread through his whole body, as the happiness overcame him. The kiss flooded memories into his brain. His lips reacted easily, molding as if they belonged there, fitting back together like a shovel base and handle; you needed both for it to work properly. Without one, the other would never serve its true purpose, it would be broken. "Gregory Thorne," he whispered almost breathlessly, "mon amour, ma vie."

Gregory's long broken heart of ten years, bonded as strong as ever. The warm feeling and fast beating overriding the pain from earlier. "You soppy git."

Christophe chuckled and undid Gregory's shirt slowly, not wanting his fingers to press into the blond's chest in any harmful way. He drew breath when he saw how the bruises had developed. Gregory was like a peach - his skin so delicate, absorbing every imprint. Christophe pressed his lips with a feather-like delicacy against the bruises. The warmth from his lips spread through Gregory, causing the pain to simply melt away. He sighed.

They lay in the tender comfort of each other's company, kissing and caressing with a new found gentleness, until a knock came on the door. Christophe moved from the bed to a nearby chair and Gregory called for the person to enter.

It was of course Mason the Butler holding a phone. "Your wife, she says it's _really_ urgent." Mason ignored the fact Gregory was shirtless. His eyes trailed over the bruises but didn't linger. He'd learnt not to linger, just like he'd learnt not to ask questions.

Gregory took the phone, placing a hand over it, so his wife couldn't hear. "Mason, when was the last time I gave you a holiday? Gosh, it's been a while hasn't it? I tell you what, why don't I give you the rest of the week off... and next week too?"

The butler's face filled with surprise. "Sir!"

Gregory laughed. "Don't look so shocked, I can be nice you know. In fact, how would you like to use the holiday home in the Lake District? The one that overlooks... Lake Windermere is it?"

Mason looked in awe. "That would be awfully kind of you."

"It's not much, and the second bathroom is desperately in need of renovation, but it has a fantastic view from the main sitting room."

"It sounds amazing."

"So you'll take it?"

"Yes. Thank you!"

"Terrific, now get out of my sight. You know where the keys are. I expect you gone and relaxing by tomorrow." The butler nodded and hurried out of the room, before Gregory changed his mind. "Hello, I'm here," called Gregory's eloquent voice through the phone. He beckoned for Christophe to join him again.

"Gregory, darling, I've been trying to reach you!"

"Mmm, I've been a little busy." He snaked his hand through Christophe's and leant his head back against his chest.

"Doing what? Mason seemed to suggest you'd passed out in the library... something about a book falling off the shelf."

He mentally thanked Mason for not mentioning Christophe. "Yes, that book fell with rather a lot of force." Gregory closed his eyes as Christophe trailed a hand up his chest to caress the bruise again, whispering apologies into his ear.

"Well do try to be careful, darling. You mustn't end up in hospital; they're far too overcrowded these days."

Gregory inwardly rolled his eyes. "I'll tell Charlotte Bronté not to write such heavy novels shall I?"

"Oh dear, do you have concussion? Charlotte Bronté is dead."

Gregory stopped his wife in exasperation, wit was utterly wasted. "What was so urgent?"

"Oh, yes, of course. I'm afraid I'm going to have to extent my stay here in New York another week. Cynthia says there's a play starting next week that I simply can't miss. So I'll be away at least two more weeks. Will that be a problem?"

Gregory stifled a moan as Christophe continued tracing across his chest. "N-No, no problem, dear. Just have a nice time." He thought as much would happen when he'd given Mason the following week off.

"Thank you, darling. I've got to go shopping now."

Spending all of Gregory's money. "Have a fabulous time."

"Talk to you soon, dear."

No. "Goodbye, Emily." Gregory hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed.

"'Ow ees eet zat you 'av a wife. You're so gay," Christophe commented.

"Either she didn't notice my obvious homosexuality or she looked past it to the money. It was such a marriage of convenience. The only reason I ever married her was because it was easier to engage in underworld activities that way, less focus solely on me. I made sure I picked a wife who was away a lot."

Christophe dropped his hands lower, caressing Gregory's hip bones. "Leave 'er. We'll get a nice little place in ze Dordogne, not get mixed up in ze underworld zis time, just live our lives togezer, ze life I should 'av always geeven you."

Gregory sighed in bliss at the physical contact. "I can't go to France and run off with you, I have a bitch wife and step-children."

"Eef your wife's a beetch zen why do you want to stay wiz 'er? Why waste ze rest of your life?"

"It would be awfully irresponsible of me to run away with you now," Gregory cast his eyes down, "I want to so fucking much though."

"Zen ze answer ees simple. I 'aven't spent zis long trying to find you, to let you go again. And I'm not just going to be your 'meestress.'" Christophe kissed Gregory's shoulder, sucking delicately at the pale skin.

Gregory groaned. It was extremely tempting. "And what about Oscar and Elizabeth?"

"'Ow often do you see zem?" mumbled Christophe into his neck.

"Not very."

"Do you like zem?"

"Not particularly. Oscar wants everything handed to him on a gold rimmed plate, and Elizabeth is turning into a bigger bitch than her mother." Gregory paused, "can I call my step-daughter a bitch? God, I really am a terrible person."

"Zen zey're probably better off wizout you."

Gregory grinned at the blunt truth in that statement. "Yes, I agree." He shot up and yanked Christophe up too, his decision made. Though perhaps on some level, his decision had been made the second he heard Christophe's name again.

Christophe scowled. "What's ze 'urry, beetch?"

"Let's do it. Let's run away. I love you. Fucking hell, Christophe, it couldn't be simpler."

"Would you like me to book two tickets to France?"

"One way, business class." Gregory saw that Christophe looked sceptical. "Look around you, Tophe, you're in a country estate, I'm loaded."

Christophe shook his head. "Zat's not what I'm worried about. Are you sure zat I am what you want for ze rest of your life?"

Gregory took Christophe's hands in his, gazing intently into his eyes with tears in his own. "I need you to save me."

Those words held a lifetime of meaning.

Christophe wrapped an arm around Gregory, pulling him close and holding him tight. "Oui, I can do zat." He brushed a strand of hair out of the beautiful blond's eyes. "But we do 'av a couple of weeks before your wife ees due back."

Gregory smiled seductively. "And I intend to use that time to introduce you to _every_ room in this house."


End file.
